The Silent Sacrifice: Forgotten Heroes of Mnangagwa’s Masvingo Helicopter Tragedy

By Dorrothy Moyo | ZimEye| In the quiet aftermath of the helicopter crash that claimed the lives of two skilled pilots on Sunday, 15th September, Zimbabwe is grappling with a strange silence. These pilots, who had been flying President Emmerson Mnangagwa that very day, have now been relegated to the shadows of public memory, their service and sacrifice seemingly erased from the national consciousness. Their tragic deaths, while fetching Mnangagwa from Bikita after a routine mission, have barely registered in the public discourse, raising troubling questions about the value placed on those who serve in proximity to power.

These two men had flown with Mnangagwa earlier that day—trusted to steer the President’s journey through the skies, tasked with the weighty responsibility of ensuring his safety. Yet, when fate struck, when their helicopter went down, they were not beside him. Their final moments were not in the presence of Zimbabwe’s head of state, but in the lonely silence of a tragic crash that has left little trace in the nation’s collective memory.

If they had perished with him, alongside the President they so dutifully served, their story would have been vastly different. Just as the two thieves who died with Jesus are remembered for the company they kept in their final hour, these pilots would have been remembered as tragic heroes—companions of Mnangagwa in what would have been a moment of national mourning. Their names would have been uttered in state ceremonies, and their sacrifice enshrined in history.

But fate wrote a different story. Instead, they perished in a moment disconnected from Mnangagwa’s immediate presence, and so their deaths have been swept under the rug, forgotten by the very government they served. The memory of their service has been deleted from the narrative, as though their contribution to that fateful day no longer matters. In the media’s brief coverage of the crash, their names were scarcely mentioned before the news cycle moved on.

It is a deeply troubling irony. These men, who moments before had flown the nation’s leader, are now faceless victims of an aviation tragedy. If they had died with him, they might have been hailed as national martyrs, immortalized as part of the state’s narrative of loyalty and service. Instead, they died alone, and the government seems content to leave them there, their memories consigned to oblivion.

The question looms large: why has the government so swiftly erased their memory? One possible explanation is the optics of power. In a political landscape where narratives are tightly controlled, acknowledging the tragic deaths of two of Mnangagwa’s pilots may have detracted from the image the government wishes to project. The fragility of human life, especially so close to the head of state, may not fit the image of invulnerability the regime seeks to convey.

But this erasure does a disservice not only to the families of these men but to the nation as a whole. These pilots were not merely operators of a machine—they were guardians of Zimbabwe’s highest office, entrusted with the life of the President himself. Their sacrifice, though separated by minutes and miles from Mnangagwa’s presence, is no less significant.

Had they been with Mnangagwa in his final moments, their names would have been etched into the national narrative. Like the thieves who died with Jesus, their story would be remembered for the company they kept at the time of death. But because they were fetching the President from another location, their fate has been reduced to a tragic footnote, quickly forgotten by a government more concerned with preserving its own image than honoring those who served it faithfully.

It is a sad reality in Zimbabwe’s political landscape—those who serve quietly often perish quietly, their contributions quickly erased unless they fit the narrative of power. These two pilots, who flew with Mnangagwa on the very day of their deaths, have been cast aside, their memories lost to a nation that moves too quickly from one crisis to the next.

In the end, their sacrifice remains, whether or not the government chooses to honor it. And while their names may not be spoken in public ceremonies or etched into state memorials, their story will live on in the hearts of those who knew them and in the quiet corners of Zimbabwe where the true cost of service is understood. If only their final moments had been different—if only they had been with Mnangagwa at the time of the crash—their legacy might have been one of public remembrance, not silent erasure.